


Simple

by Gadhar



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:39:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1864935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadhar/pseuds/Gadhar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Um, yeah I don't remember why  I wrote this. Other than my general all things Batman obsession.</p><p>I own nothing, but I totally wanna know who owns Jim Gordon's mustache. That thing probably has it's own acting contract.</p><p>I believe I had Calacious beta this, at some point in time. So shouts to them, lovely stuff over there.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Simple

**Author's Note:**

> Um, yeah I don't remember why I wrote this. Other than my general all things Batman obsession.
> 
> I own nothing, but I totally wanna know who owns Jim Gordon's mustache. That thing probably has it's own acting contract.
> 
> I believe I had Calacious beta this, at some point in time. So shouts to them, lovely stuff over there.

It was supposed to be simple. 

Go in, take the bad guys down, leave. End of story. Point made. Simple.

Except nothing ever was, simple, that is, and Batman should've known that, anywhere Gordon was concerned, things were never going to be simple. Especially now, especially in Gotham. It was never simple in Gotham, and things got even harder when he was at odds with Gordon.

But at the moment, it hadn't been his main concern. His main concern had been to keep it simple, end the riot with no casualties. It didn't go the way it should've.

He had slipped in through the vents, the quickest, though not most direct, route that could take one from outside the GCPD station house to the cell block within. 

Gordon had told him to stay away. Used the code word they had established for situations when Batman wasn't needed, when _Gordon_ didn't need him. Gordon's voice had been rough with the cold he was overcoming, thick with exhaustion, but his voice had solidified, for just a moment, when he uttered 'pray' at the end of the dispatch call that he knew Batman would be listening to, the one that Batman always listened to. It was a simple code word, one picked for it's easily applicable use, to make those listening think that Gordon meant to pray for success without harm when it really meant back off Batman.

Batman hadn't listened. Honestly, when did he ever?

He'd been too late though, the riot was full blown by the time he got there and he could already see the dead spread eagle on the floor. One poor bastard was even strung up. Batman grimaced as he quickly scanned the area, the optic lenses of his cowl hooked to the Batcomputer in the cave and feeding him all the identities of those lost. Of their families left behind. That knowledge of lost filled his veins, he let the anger rage, let the vengeance take over. Just for now. 

He was a black mass dropping to the floor with a solid thud, sliding easily into the flow of battle like he was carried on the breeze. A series of devastating punches and kicks had five criminals out cold. But there were more, a lot more. 

Batman had soon disappeared in that torrent of fighting, hidden behind the flurry of fists and lead pipes being swung, of bodies flying out in all directions. Time had slowed down to a crawl, everyone and everything moving slower than he as he switched between the different arts, changing his blocks and assaults, matching the form to the situation. 

Distantly, Ra's al-Ghul's voice called to him, _I know the rage that drives you._

The man had. But rage is simple, rage in destructive. This is vengeance, this is complicated. But it is for a reason that Ra's would never understand.

He counted another two going down, and, with a left handed jab, he brought down another while slicing the rope hanging the one officer with a well placed batarang from his right hand. It's that moment of consideration, of pity, that weakened him.

He's caught off guard, thick forearms wrapped around his throat as the familiar stench of the chemicals that make Venom, the horrid drug that it is, reached his nostrils. Bane held him tight, for once not focused on delivering destruction upon the Bat with his own hand, and instead letting the others take a shot. Or rather a few.

The cowl couldn't do much to dampen the blows to his face, and when Bane's gang, each high on their own mini-doses of Venom, started joining in, even the suit was pushed to it's limits. Some of the armor cracked and shattered under their power, and his skin itself did the same as his bones howled in pain. Pain he didn't really feel.

He locked eyes with Gordon when the man entered, gun raised high as his men marched in after him. They easily took down enough of Bane's gang and provided an adequate distraction that allowed Batman to move, to slip free and swing up, wrapping his legs around Bane's neck to bring his whole body crashing to the floor head first. 

By the time he staggered to his feet, a smooth transition in the view of the outside world, even as his body shook, most of the prisoners were already gone or being transported away. Bane was the last to go, and Batman watched long enough to see the extensive measures the police took to restrain him. 

Satisfied, he slipped back into the darkness, smooth and quiet with the perception of inhuman power, all without looking at Gordon though he could feel the man's eyes burning through the remains of his suit. 

Batman ended up at Gordon's house. Whether by guilt, need of first aid, or just because there was no one waiting at the cave, he didn't care to speculate. 

He didn't dare take a seat, didn't dare move from the kitchen. Though he was quite acquainted with Gordon, he had never moved out of the kitchen, never taken a seat, without Gordon's insistence, his permission. And even now, he prefers to stand, the pain that racks through his body a deserved punishment for being so stupid. 

"I told you to stay away." Gordon's voice comes, quiet and echoing throughout the house. 

He'd been waiting hours for the Captain's arrival, for the moment of whether he'd be accepted or rejected. 

Gordon makes no move to exit the kitchen doorway, he just stands and stares, so Batman takes the cowl off, giving way to Bruce Wayne. Or maybe still Batman, Bruce had really died there with his parents. 

It's when Gordon still continues to stare that Batman removes the rest of the armor. Twitching when it doesn't come free easily, hissing when he has to peel or dislodge it from his skin, and in a painfully long ten minutes he's standing there in the nylon suit he had Lucius make to go under the armor. It's black as well, saturated with blood in parts and torn in places to show pale skin beneath. 

It's then that Gordon finally moves, his eyes regaining focus as his lips form a thin line before he repeats, "I told you to stay away."

"I couldn't." Bruce growls, settling for the closest thing he has to the truth.

Gordon quirks an eyebrow, a silent signal to go on but Bruce frowns when he fails at words fit for explanation.

"I couldn't, Jim. I couldn't leave you there to handle it alone."

"I had the force." Jim says matter-of-factly, and it'd be a sign of his usual self if a smug grin had accompanied it. But one hadn't.

"You know what I mean." Bruce huffs then, a sudden pain lacing up his side and he leans all his weight on the counter beside him. 

Gordon's by Bruce's side in a matter of two long strides but he doesn't touch or even look. His hand hovers hesitantly near Bruce's bicep before dropping to his side and he keeps his eyes on the ground.

Bruce flicks his gaze over Gordon, noticing that the man's lithe body shivers under the focus. He allows his gaze to linger, knowing it's making Jim uncomfortable and feeling bad that it does though he wants that long look. "I'll go. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come." 

If he had been in perfect shape he would've been out the door quickly with no hesitation. But the extra moments it takes him to gather up the pieces of the suit and drag his injured leg over to the window gives Gordon enough time to make up his mind. 

For him, it's been too long and he pushes Bruce up against the wall, ignoring the man's injuries and taking what he wants. Bruce's lips are hard and warm beneath his own, opening willingly and letting Jim do as he pleases. 

When Gordon pulls back, caressing Bruce's face and tilting it down, he's got that hard worn look on his face again. "You take on some battles alone. I get that. I get that you have to. I get that sometimes, I'm just the clean up. But you always, _always,_ call me. Except for that night. That doesn't happen again." He knows he's using his authority voice, the one he uses to boss around the idiots at the station. And he knows it doesn't have anywhere near the same effect on Bruce that it does on them. But he also knows that he is probably one of the only two people that Bruce will listen to, that Batman will listen to. "And this," Gordon drags a finger lightly over the series of horizontal slashes that mark Bruce's chest. "Doesn't happen again. You stay away when I tell you to."

"Jim..." 

Gordon ducks his head, pressing his nose into Bruce's shoulder and hides the small smile on his face, taking a moment to make sure it doesn't leak into his voice. "Don't. Give me this. I know you won't agree to that, but pretend, for just right now, that my threats and orders actually scare and apply to you."

Batman doesn't say anything, but the tension drains fully from his body as he slouches against the counter, slowly sliding down and bringing Jim with him. The final transition from Batman to Bruce, complete. 

And they sit there on the floor together, side by side, back to the cabinets, hands held and fingers entwined between them. Because right now Jim is still mad, Bruce is still injured, and tonight won't be the reunion they're looking forward to after months of being indifferent towards each other. 

But maybe tomorrow.


End file.
